


A Metallic Flavor

by DarkMK



Category: Jurassic Park (1993)
Genre: Alternative Character Viewpoint, Gen, Minor Character Death, Tragedy, foregone conclusion, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMK/pseuds/DarkMK
Summary: Even the greatest predator has a weakness... Or, why two of the most lethal predators of any fictional universe could not manage to easily make a meal of two children. This is the kitchen scene from Jurassic Park from the Raptors' point of view.Please note: This also includes the earlier scene with Mr. Arnold's death. It is not particularly gory, but if you're squeamish, beware.





	A Metallic Flavor

**Author's Note:**

> Another transfer from ff.net (and probably the last for the time being). This is unique from most of my other writings: for one thing, it's one of the few that leads to a tragic ending (or at least, an ending in which recovery is virtually nil). For another, it has no true dialogue, despite the constant character interaction.
> 
> But I really like this fic, for a couple of reasons. The most basic: it brought me back to writing after several years absence. For another, it really taught me something about characters and fiction in general: the idea that virtually any character can be made interesting and/or sympathetic if you write from their point of view. (And its corollary, that any _pairing_ can work if it's well written; but I didn't truly learn that until later.)
> 
> I was always really happy with how this fic ended up, and I hope that it impacts you as well.
> 
> Side-note: this has been slightly revised from the original version.

There are so many new smells out here. I am curious to explore, but Alpha insists on keeping ranks. We have trained long and hard in preparation for this mission, when we would finally escape the lightning fence and have revenge upon our captors. We have observed the Soft-Skinned for many days, seeing how they react to us, forming strategies to take each individual down. I do not know if all of our plans will work, for we have never had the chance to test them properly inside of our cage. But Alpha insists that they will, and She is the only one of us three who has taken one down before.

We fan out through the trees, keeping exactly ten strides apart, moving toward the compound of the Soft-Skinned. First we will observe, then we will act, with speed and precision. I am ready. My claws are sharp, my heart pounds strong. I look forward to my first taste of the Soft-Skinned.

Alpha hisses an alert from my left. A Soft-Skin has been spotted. I pass the message to Gamma-Strike, and then we are silent, watching. It comes into view, stepping carefully, eyes darting back and forth. Its primary skin blends well with the dark background, but its second skin is a pale color that highlights its every move. It is not one of the hunters. It does not have the smells of the outside. I wonder what its role is in the Soft-Skin pack. I can see that it carries one of the metallic weapons. It is small, but I will not make a foolish move. I can hear Alpha flanking behind him, and I know my role is to keep his attention focused forward so that he will not hear Her. But he is edgy. Every sound makes him swing his weapon back and forth.

I realize that he is heading for a fence in a clearing, and I notify Alpha. She gives the signal to begin the attack, just as the Soft-Skin darts for the gate. Gamma-Strike is only a few strides away, but she is not close enough to cut him off. He manages to slam the gate closed and races to a small building without looking back. Gamma-Strike snarls in frustration. I arrive at the gate and inspect it. The metal is much finer than the lightning fence, but I take a moment before touching it, lest it have the same bite. It does not. However, it is strong enough to hold up when I give it an experimental kick. An examination of the edges shows a potential weak spot: a latch of some kind. I claw at it with my forearm, but I cannot get the right angle. I twist and kick at it, and it finally gives, the gate swinging slowly open. I move through carefully, watching for potential attacks. The Soft-Skins are clever and like layers of traps. But I see nothing. This building is small and seems insignificant. I wonder what is inside for the Soft-Skin to go here.

I try the door. This latch is much easier than the gate. I can open it with my forearm. I ask Alpha for permission to pursue. She grants it, but calls Gamma-Strike back. Only one should go in, lest we be trapped or more Soft-Skins approach.

I push inside.

* * *

It is dark. The ground is treacherous and I nearly fall. It takes me several beats of my heart to successfully navigate to the level terrain below. I try to be stealthy, but every step clanks and vibrates across the metal. Why are the Soft-Skinned so obsessed with metal? I can only surmise that it is because they lack claws of their own, so they must surround themselves with strength.

I do not have time for useless thoughts. Alpha would say that only thoughts of strategy are essential, for they lead to action. It was why She purged the tribe when She came, for the others were not willing to act as needed.

I smell the Soft-Skin close ahead, and my thoughts are drawn back to the hunt. I turn a corner and he is there, his pale second skin standing out a sharp contrast. He hears me and I can scent the sharp tang of fear in the air. He cannot see me at first, for I have only one skin and it is all dark. He turns and runs down to the end of the metal path, racing around a corner. I follow him. He struggles to open another gate, and I lunge. He activates his weapon, but his aim is wild, and it does not strike me. I sink my teeth into his shoulder. The skin  _is_  very soft. My teeth sink through with no resistance until they touch the bone. The Soft-Skin struggles against me, but his blows are light and ineffectual, and he can no longer activate the weapon. I slash an arm-claw through his neck and his efforts become feeble as his life-blood begins to drain. I crunch through the last of the flesh in my teeth, and his body collapses and rolls over. A few more gasps and wheezes and he is all still.

I have done it. I, Gamma-Swift, have killed my first Soft-Skin! Alpha will be most pleased. I place the severed arm to the side, atop a metal canister. When I leave, I will take it with me as a trophy. I bend down and tear a chunk of warm flesh from the body to taste. It is strange. I do not know that I like it. I am not hungry, for the Soft-Skins fed us yesterday. I do not think that I will eat my kill now. If all Soft-Skins taste this way, perhaps I will not eat any of them. But I do wish to study them some more. I slice past the second and primary skins, and observe the flesh underneath and inside. This light is very poor, it is hard to see. But I try anyway, for this knowledge could serve me later.

Suddenly, I smell the presence of another Soft-Skin. I have allowed myself to become distracted! Alpha would not be pleased. I do not know what weapons this new Soft-Skin may carry, I must observe. Then I will know how to act. It is harder when Alpha is not here to give the orders.

I listen. The Soft-Skin sounds like it is right on the other side of a nearby wall of metal tubes. I move closer to hear. There are many strange clacking sounds. I cannot tell what it may be doing. Suddenly there is a strange buzzing all around me, like the buzz of the lightning fence. No, I will not let myself be trapped again! Light blazes around me, and I act,  _now_. I shove through the metal tubes, chomping at the Soft-Skin. It is too far for me to grab. It shrieks and its voice is high-pitched. I think it may be a female. If so, it may be more dangerous than the other, for our kind are all female and we are the most dangerous of all. Even so, I am not afraid. I have killed one, I can kill another.

I finally push through the metal wall, but the Soft-Skin has made it through the gate and shoves it closed, trapping me. I cannot get the leverage to kick the latch in here, it is too small and tight! I will not be kept in a cage again! Desperately, I claw at the fence and I am relieved when it begins to pull apart. By the time that I make it to the other side, the Soft-Skin is already running up the metal pathways. I hear a slam, and I realize that it must be the door. It takes me many beats of my heart to navigate up the treacherous metal path and outside.

There is no sign of the Soft-Skin. I must find Alpha and tell her of this development. If the report of our escape spreads, we will not have the advantage of stealthy attacks.

I find Gamma-Strike, who informs me that Alpha has just made a kill. A prize kill: the Lead Hunter of the Soft-Skins. I tell her of the one who escaped me, and we tentatively ask Alpha if we should pursue her. Alpha snarls that She will not leave Her kill until She has savored it thoroughly. However, between bites, She does give us permission to track the other Soft-Skin.

We leave her side silently and speed towards the Soft-Skin compound. I wonder why she finds the Soft-Skinned taste so appealing. Perhaps the one that I killed was simply a poor representative of its kind. Or was the problem with me? Maybe it is an acquired taste and I have not tried it enough. I suddenly remember my forgotten trophy. I will have to return for it later.

When we reach the open-spaced compound, we tread carefully. We stay alert for Soft-Skins and dart from cover to cover one at a time. I smell the faint trail of the escaped Soft-Skin and I indicate it. But Gamma-Strike suddenly lifts and gestures the other way. Other Soft-Skins are closer. We should deal with them first.

At length, I agree, and we follow the new trail inside the compound. There are two distinct scents. One of them is somehow tinged with the smell of the lightning fence, and it makes me snort in disgust. There are many other interesting smells in here, and I hope that when all the Soft-Skins are gone, I will have a chance to pursue them one by one. Maybe Alpha will not mind then.

I pause briefly by a large stack of colored items atop a flat wooden construct. I don't know what they are, but they have a strangely enticing smell. The scent of the Soft-Skins is here as well. What did they do with these blobs? Are they a type of food? Curious, I bend down and lick one of them. A sharp flavor bursts on my tongue. It is completely different from any taste that I had before. It is more strange the bite of the Soft-Skin, but with an almost enticing air to it. The thought occurs to me that it could be poisonous to my kind, and reluctantly I pull away.

Gamma-Strike calls to me. She has found the two Soft-Skins and has trapped them in a room. She tells me to stop my pointless exploring. When I arrive, she snaps at me that I am too slow. I snarl back that I am Gamma- _Swift_ , she does not have to tell me to hurry.

I observe that, once again, the room is made nearly all of metal. I do not like metal. It distorts the scents and makes it hard to pinpoint the exact location of the Soft-Skins. Gamma-Strike tells me that she caught a glimpse of them earlier, and that they are small and should be easy to handle. She is looking forward to proving herself with her first Soft-Skin kill. I warn her not to be too eager. We should be systematic to ensure no mistakes.

We sweep down the rows of metal one at a time. If the Soft-Skins tried to bolt for the door, they could not make it back before us, I know, though the floor would make it tricky. It is slippery and hard to grab. As I step, I glare at it. The Soft-Skins love to make things as hard as possible for us. That is why they deserve to die. Gamma-Strike taps her long toe-claw against the floor in agreement.

She suddenly slips and her tail whips into a series of stacked metal bowls, knocking them down with a clatter. The sounds echo all around us, hurting my ears. It disorients me, but I am certain that I hear more than just the metal-on-metal racket. I tell Gamma-Strike to check, but she sees only the bowls, still no Soft-Skins.

A single piece of metal falls with a clang from the end of the next row. Now we  _know_  exactly where they are. Gamma-Strike is impatient for her kill. She jumps atop the metal row, to ensure a better angle of attack. She will flank, and I will drive the prey out. I swing around the corner and snarl, but the Soft-Skin is not there. Again, it is only the metal stick. Are the Soft-Skins deliberately maneuvering us into a trap? I sniff warily at the stick, and for some reason it reminds me of the taste of the colored blob on the table. I lick it, but the taste is just plain metal. I sniff again, and suddenly detect the strange lightning-fence scent. That Soft-Skin is close, very close. There's almost no distortion, he is right, right—

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Our heads whip up simultaneously. The Soft-Skin! It is there! In plain sight! But we will not rush into a trap. We will—Gamma-Strike lunges past me. I tell her to wait, that we must  _observe_ , but she ignores me. The Soft-Skin tries to hide, but it cannot pull its metal shield down. For a heartbeat, I think it is to be a perfect kill—! But then Gamma-Strike slams headfirst into one of the metal containers. She lays dazed, trying to pull herself together. It was a trick! Is there nothing of metal that they cannot turn into a weapon?

This is it, I will let no more Soft-Skins take advantage of us! The one who smells of the lightning fence suddenly stands and bolts. He is right in front of me! I launch myself after him. I cannot grip the floor, so I am no longer Swift, but merely Medium-Speed, but he is so close that it does not matter. Two strides, one! Just as I snap with my teeth, he slides unexpectedly sideways. Then I am sliding, too, and I slam into a cold metal rack. It hurts and I fall. He manages to stand before I do and goes to close the door, to trap me in.  _No!_  By sheer will-power, I throw myself at it. He is small and has hardly any strength, but I cannot gain purchase on this floor to push back. Suddenly the other Soft-Skin is there, too, and their combined strength is just enough to shove the door closed. I claw at it frantically, calling for Gamma-Strike to help me. I kick and push and shout and shove, but to no avail. It will not open. I am trapped again.

When I last stand still, I realize how cold this little room is. It seems to grow colder even as I stand here. If I am here for too long, I will not be able to move at all. I futilely kick at the door again. Observe, then act, I remind myself, a faint chill beginning to settle over me. Is there any other way out? I look. There is only the one door, and a small vented hole in the ceiling. I nose at it, but it seems that is where the cold comes in. It will do me no good.

I call for Gamma-Strike again. Why has she not come?

* * *

I pace to keep warm. It will not work for long. Every so often I call for help and kick the door again. A couple of times, I think I hear Gamma-Strike, snarling at the Soft-Skins—but I cannot be sure. I wish that she could hear me.

* * *

I do not know how much later it is, but very faintly, far away, I hear Alpha's war cry. It stirs the faintest whispers of hope in me. I call back, as loud as I can. She snarls again, louder, declaring vengeance for her fallen subordinate. 

Fallen?

....Gamma-Strike is dead?

Suddenly Alpha's snarls cease. Then I hear the deep-throated roar of the Strong-Jaw. It is the roar of victory...over a kill. It pierces me just as deep as this bone-chilling cold. If the Strong-Jaw has defeated Alpha, then there is no one left to come for me. I lean my head against the door, dragging a futile scratch across its surface with my arm-claw.

It is so very cold.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is not just a reference to the flavor of blood, and the bit where the raptor tastes the spoon, but also came because I noticed that every time the raptors were defeated, metal was involved, and thus it becomes intimately associated with humans for them.


End file.
